In an olive grove. Forever.

I visited an extraordinary place yesterday. Almost unbelievable. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. And touched it, too. With by hands. And took digital photos. To help convince others that it's for real. Though some may think the pictures are fake. Because they are so other-worldly. I went to a grove of olive trees. In Sardinia. A half-hour drive from where I'm staying. And for a while, I wondered if the trees were real. From a distance, the trunks looked like they were dead. Withered. Gnarled. Misshapen. Wrinkled. And little wonder. Because some of the trees are purported to be 600 or 700 years old. Indeed, that's aged. But on top of these trunks there's growth. Branches. Bulging. And in season, there are sweet-smelling white blossoms and tons and tons of olives. Maybe the trees will keep producing forever. I'd like to think so. My true love and I walked through the groves. From one tree to the next. Awestruck. No two trees alike. Each tree with it's own personality. The lure was irresistible. We nestled in some of the more inviting trunks. As if they had arms. Or laps. And warm bosoms. I could feel the pulsebeat of life. Yes, in a tree. A fantastic spiritual experience. As if in a dream. But so very real. A moment captured. In an olive grove. Forever. --Jim Broede